His Brother's Wife (5 page)

She smiled at him when he
turned to look at her. Her things were stacked in the corner by the
dresser and she gave the space another look. “Is this to be my
room?” she asked, knowing the question was dumb before the words
were out of her mouth.

He nodded his head at her,
his face once again turning bright red. “Yeah. Used to be my ma and
pa’s room but it’s ours now. If it’s okay with ya.”

Grace stared at him, his
use of the word “ours” ringing inside her head. She watched his
ears turn red before he cleared his throat and said, “We can wait
until the wedding before I move in though.” He fidgeted, swiped at
his nose with his fist and shot her a quick glance. “Unless you
want me to move in now.”

She blinked at him. Move
in? To her room? It took her a full minute to find her voice.
“Well, seeing as we’re not properly wed, maybe we should wait. It’s
improper enough for me even to be living here before we’re married,
let alone us sharing a room.” He looked ready to run and Grace had
to wonder how much the boy even wanted a wife. He didn’t look as if
he was that worldly but what did she know of boys? Most women
waited for marriage to act upon any such fleshly desires. How the
male half of the population went about things was beyond her
knowledge.

He looked relieved with
her answer, his breath let out in one long sigh. “Don’t matter to
me none. Rafe’s the one said I had to sleep in your
room.”

“Did he now?” Grace could
only imagine what that man had said. He seemed to enjoy watching
her squirm in town when confronted with the fact she’d promised
herself to a fourteen-year-old boy. Of course, just thinking of him
caused her pulse to jump and his image floated in her minds eye
moments later. There was trouble waiting for her where he was
concerned. She could feel it in her bones.

“Well, I’m sure with a
thorough cleaning the room will be just fine.” She walked to the
bed, laying her hand on the blanket spread across the top. It would
need replaced before she slept on the thing. Turning, she smiled at
Jesse before placing her bag on the bed. “I don’t suppose you have
someone who helps with the chores in the house, do you?

“Someone like
who?”

“Well, a hired servant? Or
a woman from another farm who helps?”

Jesse shook his head
“Nope. Just me and Rafe. We do what we have to.”

“I see.” Grace turned a
full circle, noticing the dust collecting on the dresser top. The
house was a mess and no one would be around to clean it. No one but
her, that is.

Was this why Jesse had
ordered a wife? He needed someone to clean his house? She let her
gaze linger on him while letting her last thought run through her
mind. If he didn’t have anyone to clean, that meant no one would be
there to cook either. She sighed. The boy wasn’t looking for a
wife, he was looking for a mother.

Marrying and having a
family of her own is all she’d wanted when she set out to find a
husband but she didn’t expect her first child to be a
fourteen-year-old boy. “I think I’ll get settled in,” she said.
“Besides, I do believe Rafe asked for your help in the
barn.”

Jesse snorted and his face
twisted into a grimace. “He thinks he owns the place. Let him fix
it.”

The animosity in his voice
was clear. For whatever reason, he and Rafe didn’t get along. A
host of questions popped into her mind but she ignored them. There
was plenty of time for that. “Well then, what do you do around
here?”

“Cook and clean but since
I got you now, I don’t have to do that anymore. I can do other
things.”

“Like what?”

He looked perplexed before
shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll find something. My pa was busy from
sun up to sundown. I’ll just do what he did.”

“Do you think he would fix
the roof on the barn?” She bit back a smile when he shot her a
look.

He glanced out the window
where the barn sat. Grace looked as well. Rafe stood on the roof
staring down at the hole. He’d shed his coat, letting her see that
the breadth of his shoulders was just as wide without the added
bulk of all that material. He lifted his hat, pushing his hair back
before resettling it and bending to grab a plank that lay by his
foot. She watched him work for several minutes before the sound of
her name startled her. She turned to Jesse, seeing a frown on his
face.

“I’m going to go help
Rafe. You need me to cook supper tonight or can you handle
it?”

She smiled to cover her
embarrassment of being caught staring at Rafe. “I think I can
manage. Anything in particular you would like?”

He shook his head and
started across the room. “Don’t matter to me.” He stopped when he
reached the door. “Well, as long as it ain't eggs. I’m sick of
‘em.”

“Isn’t,” she
said.

“Huh?”

“As long as it isn’t eggs.
Ain't isn’t proper.”

He raised an eyebrow at
her before shaking his head and leaving the room. She listened to
his feet shuffle across the floor and the stairs creaking under his
weight before turning back to the window. Rafe looked up then, his
gaze focused on the house, and even though Grace knew he couldn’t
see her through the dirt coating the window, her pulse leaped and
butterfly’s danced in her stomach.

She turned, putting him
out of her mind. She had more important things to think about than
how handsome Rafe Samuels was. Like figuring out a way to break
Jesse’s heart without causing too much pain.

Chapter Five

The sun was setting by the
time Rafe walked across the yard toward the house. He stopped by
the water pump, filling the bucket and giving his face and hands a
scrub. The air was filled with the scent of cooking food and his
stomach had been growling since noon. He hoped whatever Grace had
fixed wasn’t eggs. He was sick of them.

Jesse ran into the house
in front of him, the door slamming as it closed behind him and Rafe
shook his head. He wasn't sure what had gotten into the boy. Jesse
had climbed the ladder onto the barn roof after taking Grace's
things inside and started helping him with the repairs without a
word said. Which suited him just fine. The less they talked, the
less they fought. His sudden urge to help was uncharacteristic and
he wondered where the sudden desire came from. He hadn't asked but
he had an idea.

When Rafe stepped into the
house, his hunch was proven right. Jesse was there, standing by the
sink, his face and hands washed while his gaze followed Grace as
she flitted around the kitchen setting dishes on the table. She
looked up at him as he shut the door, their gazes clashing for
brief moments before she looked away. He hung his coat and hat on
the peg by the door and smoothed his hair back. Then, he just stood
there. He glanced at Jesse. Maybe that’s why the kid was standing
like a statue by the sink. He didn’t know what to do
either.

The last time Rafe
remembered a woman in this kitchen, it had been his ma, some ten
years earlier, before he took off to fight a war that left more
scars than he wished to think about. His ma had spent most of her
days cooking and cleaning and from the looks of the room, Grace had
done the same.

She’d traded in her frilly
pink dress and feathered hat for a less fancy version. There were
no ruffles on this one and the color was a dark green. Her hair was
pinned to the back of her head, a few whips falling down around her
face. An old flour sack was tied around her waist as an apron and
without all the ruffles from her fancy dress Rafe could see how
tiny she was. Her waist was small, his hands would span it with
little help, and the curve of her hips was more enticing than it
should have been. He looked away when she turned toward
him.

“Do you two eat standing
up?”

Jesse cleared his throat
and took a step toward the table. “No ma’am. Just waitin’ til you
was finished.”

“Waiting until you were
finished,” she said, correcting him. Rafe watched Jesse’s face,
waiting for the blush, but the frown he threw her way was
unexpected. He shot a look at him before he grabbed one of the
chairs and plopped down in the seat like he couldn’t hold his body
weight up any longer. When Grace turned to look at him, Rafe
followed suit and took his place at the head of the
table.

Rafe looked at what Grace
had sat out for them in astonishment. He wasn’t even sure where she
got most of it. Of course, he didn’t make a habit of cataloging the
larder every day but he wasn’t aware there was so much variety. A
small ham sat in the center of the table. Corn, green beans cooked
with onions and bacon and fresh biscuits still steaming and
dripping with butter met his gaze. He didn’t see them but he
smelled apples, too. He glanced at the oven and hoped it held those
apples, preferably stuffed into a piecrust with plenty of cinnamon
and sugar.

When Grace grabbed his
plate and started filling it, Jesse looked over at him. The hard
glare he was throwing his way said his little brother didn’t like
not being served first. Rafe smiled at him and looked up at Grace
when she sat his plate back in front of him. “Thanks,” he mumbled,
picking up his fork.

As Grace filled Jesse’s
plate, then her own, Rafe had to fight the urge to look at her.
He’d spent every minute of the day up on that roof stealing glances
at the house in the off chance he’d see her without much luck. Now
that he could look his fill, he couldn’t make himself do it. He had
to remind himself every time he thought about her that she wasn’t
there for him. She was his brother’s wife. Or would have been if
Jesse were older. Surely the woman wasn’t going to marry the kid.
Which really begged the question, what was she doing
here?

He snuck a peek at her
then, watching her take dainty little bites of her food, her free
hand tucked into her skirts. She looked out of place in his
kitchen. Too fancy to be in such shabby surroundings. He pictured
her surrounded by fine china and white lace tablecloths.

She glanced at him and sat
her fork on the edge of her plate before dabbing at her mouth with
a cloth. He noticed another cloth sitting beside his own glass. He
cleared his throat and nodded toward the table. “I have to say, Ms.
Kingston, this sure beats the hell out of eggs.”

She smiled. “Well, Jesse
said he wasn’t too fond of them.”

“It’s not a matter of
being fond of them. It has to do with eating them for every
meal.”

“Every meal?” she
asked.

He nodded. “It’s about all
Jesse’s been willing to fix.”

“I see.” She took a sip of
her water before looking at him again. “You never bothered to cook
your own meal?”

There was an accusation in
her tone and Rafe felt his face heat as she sat staring at him. “I
would have if I hadn’t been busting my ass trying to fix this place
up. Seems to me, the one doing the least should do the
cooking.”

“I do as much as you
do!”

When Jesse yelled, Rafe
knew a fight was brewing. They’d gone for hours now without an
outburst. If Grace hadn’t been sitting there, he would have told
Jesse exactly how little he did do, but refrained for her sake. He
took another bite of his food and ignored them both.

When their plates were clean, and all the dishes on the
table emptied, Grace stood and cleared them away. Rafe looked
toward the stove, the smell of apples filling the room and as full
as he was, his mouth watered just thinking about a warm apple pie.
When Grace walked toward the stove, a towel in one hand, his heart
nearly stopped when she opened the door and reached inside.
It
was
pie. Lord, how long had it been since he’d eaten
something as common as apple pie?

She placed it on the table
and smiled when Jesse reached for it. “Not so fast. It has to cool
first.” She slid it out of his reach before turning to the sink.
“By the time I’m through with all these dishes, it should be cool
enough to eat.”

Rafe stood then and looked
her way. “Me and Jesse will do the dishes.”

“What?” Jesse yelled.
“It’s what she’s here for, Rafe. Let her do ‘em.”

He shot Jesse a look
before walking to the sink, motioning Grace away. “She cooked. The
least we could do is clean up the mess.”